


Maybe Love Will Stop Here Tonight

by JustAPassingGlance



Series: seblaine week 2014 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:37:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3081638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAPassingGlance/pseuds/JustAPassingGlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Sebastian is a bartender and Blaine decides to drown his sorrows at Sebastian's bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Love Will Stop Here Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Previously titled 'The Truth In Always', for reasons not even I can explain. Is the new title better? I have no idea, but at least I know where it's from.
> 
> Written for seblaine week 2014, day 1: alternate meeting.

With a sigh, Blaine flopped over onto his stomach, dragging all the blankets with him as he burrowed deeper into the bed. His head pounded and his stomach lurched. “Never again,” he moaned. He contemplated making a sprint for the bathroom but after a less than half-hearted attempt at pushing himself up, he decided he would rather just die where he was.

Briefly he considered the fact that his head should be hurting more. Sunlight should be streaming through the flimsy excuse for a curtain he had hanging across his windows. Instead the room was blissfully dark. It wasn’t something he dwelled on for too long, however, since even thinking about thinking caused his head to almost explode.

Whimpering, he went back to sleep. 

By the crick in his neck, he had been asleep in the same position for hours. He seemed to be slowly getting over his hangover. He could at least move without his stomach roiling unpleasantly and, although the headache was still there, but diminished to a dull throb. 

"Where am I?" Rolling over he squinted around the room, taking in the generic furniture that indicated he had somehow he had found his way to a hotel last night. 

"So you aren’t dead."

"Your concern is truly touching." Blearily, Blaine glared in the direction of the unfamiliar voice that wasn’t even trying to be considerate enough to keep its volume down. "Who are you?" 

The last thing he remembered was deciding to go to a bar instead of going home. He and Sam had started the night with pre-dinner drinks to bolster their nerves for their big dinner, pitching their show idea to their last hope. Everything had been going really well, Blaine had been at his most charming and Sam had everyone laughing with his impressions. And then, over dessert they had heard the same old speech: ‘Your concept is interesting, but not what we’re looking for.’ ‘Personally, I would love to see this, but the market just isn’t there.’ He and Sam hadn’t even talked to each other as they left the restaurant; Sam turning right as he went to find the nearest bar so that he could drink until he couldn’t remember the fact that their dream had crashed and burned. 

"Sebastian Smythe," the man said with resignation and an eye roll that suggested he had told Blaine this information several times. "And you’re Blaine Anderson." 

"You don’t have to be an ass," grumbled Blaine. Maybe it was the headache, or the unrelenting nausea but he couldn’t keep the hostility from creeping into his tone. 

"Neither do you." 

Blaine blushed, suddenly realizing how rude he had been. An awkward silence stretched across the room as Blaine tried to piece together the rest of the night. “I’m assuming we didn’t…” he gestured to the second sleep-crumbled bed in the room that looked like Sebastian had spent the night in. 

"No. We didn’t." Sebastian looked vaguely affronted at the suggestion.

"I appreciate everything you’ve done for me," Blaine said slowly, still not sure what exactly it was he was being appreciative of, "but how did I—we— end  up here?" 

Sebastian barked out a laugh. “I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember anything.” 

Hiding his face in hands, Blaine groaned. Suddenly he wasn’t sure he wanted to know just how humiliating his actions had been the night before. 

"You weren’t that bad," Sebastian said as though reading his thoughts. "You were pretty drunk when you came into the bar. You stayed until closing." Sebastian laughed to himself. "You didn’t even notice when I switched you over to just coke." 

Blaine felt his lower lip jut out in a petulant pout and quickly drew it back in, but not before Sebastian noticed, causing his grin to widen. 

"You didn’t want to leave after we closed," he continued. By now he was getting very into telling the story,  "because the stool was ‘really, really, really, really, sooooooooo comfortable.' And when I finally convinced you to leave, you could barely walk. So I, very chivalrously I might add, carried you out and found you a cab and you refused to give the cab driver your address. I believe your exact words were ‘Nightbird’s identity must be kept a secret.’ And then you started crying hysterically because Nightbird’s identity didn’t matter anymore. Which," he finished, "is the last coherent thing I got from you until this morning. So, given your… delicate disposition, I thought you’d prefer to wake up in a strange hotel room than my apartment so," he gestured at the room, "here we are." 

Drawing the blankets up over his head, Blaine hid himself away, his face burning. One day he might be able to get drunk and not humiliate himself, but that day very clearly had not yet come. Dimly he heard the muffled echo of feet padding across the carpeted floor before the blanket was gently tugged down, uncovering his face. “I’m so embarrassed,” he moaned.

"Don’t be." Sebastian was looking down at him in the way one might look at a puppy. “Or maybe be a little. But you really only showed your crazy to myself and a cab driver. All in all, it really could have been worse.” He smiled, bright and a little mocking.

Blaine flushed harder. “You would think I’d know by now that drinking doesn’t solve problems, it only creates more. Mostly of the my-making-an-idiot-of-myself variety. I’m really sorry, Sebastian. For everything. Please believe I’m not normally like that. I just had a…”

"Rough day?" Sebastian supplied. "We see the end of a lot of those."

Ducking his head in the affirmative, Blaine said, “Anything I can do to make it up to you, just let me know, okay? And I’ll pay for the room,” internally he groaned at the prospect, calculating how much a room like this would be cutting into his monthly budget. He was grateful that Sebastian hadn’t just dropped him in a fleabag motel somewhere, but was it really necessary for him to pick something this nice? “Or if you never want to see me again, I would understand that too.”

"Hotel’s on me. But breakfast," Sebastian said confidentially, “breakfast is definitely on you.” 


End file.
